


Baby, Just Give Me A Chance To Say I Need You

by rycewritestrash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drabble Collection, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Cleaning Out The Trash, Love Confessions, Or don't, Post-Episode: s06e10, Season/Series 06, Who Asked You?, enjoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2020-06-30 08:10:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rycewritestrash/pseuds/rycewritestrash
Summary: "Clarke’s heart stopped belonging to her a long time ago, if it was ever hers, to begin with.  She's beginning to think no life is ever truly owned by the person actually living it, no matter how hard we fight to control what happens to it.Clarke's death isn't something that happened to her; It happened to everyone else."orA collection of disconnected bellarke-esk drabbles that I don't know what else to do with.Title(s) inspired by3 amby Finding Hope.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-S6Ep10

Clarke’s heart stopped belonging to her a long time ago, if it was ever hers to begin with.  She's beginning to think no life is ever  truly  owned by the person actually living it, no matter how hard we fight to control what happens to it.

Independence is a delusion.

Because when it's all said and done, when the air stops filling the lungs and the heart stops pumping the blood--

When the consciousness ceases to exist, the sleeping don't miss the wakeful and the dead don't grieve the living.

Clarke's death isn't something that happened to _her;_ it happened to everyone else.

It may not be the first time she’s gotten lost finding her way back home, but it’s the only time she's ever considered that the cost of her life is a far higher price than she ever thought it was worth.

“I can’t afford to lose you again, Clarke.” His voice breaks every time he says her name, like he can’t stop thinking it could be the last she hears it.

He hasn’t left her side since she came back to him. She’s not sure how long it’s been. The hours feel like days.

She must say the last part out loud, because he snorts in response, a broken and bitter laugh crawls up his throat. “Yeah, try losing your--” He hesitates, tugging at his ear. “Try losing your _best friend_ for the second time this week.”

She blinks up at him, where he lingers beside the bed, watching over her, like he always has been. She wishes she wouldn’t get hung up on what he  really  wanted to say, what she could  truly  be to him if time quit escaping them.

“Every minute without you felt--it _feels_ like years.” He glances away, chewing his lip. “If grief  was measured  in time, I’d be immortal.”

Her eyes squeeze shut. His palm is quick to cup her cheek, catching the tears with his thumb.

"Thank you," she chokes out, blinking up at him. "For not letting me go.” He stills, eyes wide. She smiles  wryly . “I’m sorry for being so hard to hold onto."

“You heard me,” he whispers, disbelief coloring his features.

She nods, swallowing hard.  Her heartbeat picks up  erratically  and she’s almost afraid he can hear her too, that she’s become tethered to him  inextricably  so .

The heart and the head.

“I--I didn’t know if you could hear me. I was so scared you would die without knowing how much I needed you to stay.” His chin trembles and she reaches out to comfort him as he is with her. His face turns into her palm, lips pressing into her skin.

“I know, Bellamy,” she says, soft, hoping she doesn’t look as forlorn as she sounds.

He leans closer and her breath hitches, eyes flickering between his hooded ones. His thumb traces the outline of her jaw, resting  just  below her mouth. She gasps for air and his eyes drop to her lips.

“Not everything,” he confesses, nose brushing against her own. Warmth floods her body, desire pooling in her belly, despite the ache in her ribs.

“The timing’s never been right,” she says, fluttering her lashes below his. “It still isn’t.”

She’s never been this close to him, not  consciously .

His lips brush hers when he speaks. “Screw time. I’m done letting it control me, who I get to be, or who I _love_.”

“Bell--”

“ _Hear me_ , princess. There’s no amount of it that could ever make me forget what you mean to me. Believe me, I tried it before.  It took becoming a different person, someone I couldn’t recognize to convince myself otherwise. And losing you again to put the pieces back together the way they should be.”

His face is wet, with her sobs or his own, she can’t tell anymore.

“It won't be easy,” she mumbles. “I seem to have a bad habit of leaving you, even when I don’t mean to.” Her hands find their way into his hair as his trail down her collarbone. “Promise you’ll always wait for me.”

He nudges her chin up. “I told you. I’m not letting you go. I’ll follow you anywhere . . . _Clarke_ ," he urges, her name on his lips sounding a lot like, _I love you._

The dam breaks, pulling her into him, closer than she’s ever been. His tongue slips past her lips twisting with hers. It’s love, it’s hope--it’s that first gulp of air after  being suffocated by  the feelings left unsaid for so long.

It’s the only thing that makes sense after everything they’ve been through.

Time ceases to exist.


	2. 3:00 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another s6 canon divergence AU

The episodes begin when things are finally settled. 

In the quiet when her thoughts howl like wind through the trees. That hitch of breath and flutter in her heart, broken butterfly wings in her chest where the bruises have yet to heal. And yet, it’s her head that’s taken the most damage, scars invisible to the naked eye.

Bellamy notices.

_ Because of course, he does.  _

Her back straightens. It’s been happening more frequently, thoughts that aren’t her own, burrowed into her brain, coming out when she least expects it. The more she focuses on it, the louder the voice gets, and then she’s spiraling, getting pulled under into the waves of darkness, until there is nothing-- _ she _ is nothing. 

Nothing--

“Clarke.”

She blinks.

Bellamy is no longer several feet away from her, across the room, where he has insisted on looming over her on the days that she doesn't want to feel the kiss of the sun on her face, or see the smiling faces of the people who sanctioned her death.

He has suddenly reemerged only a few inches away. Paint pools at her feet from where the pallet has gone slack in her arm, colors bleeding through each other on the floor, swirling patterns of chaos. 

His hand squeezes hers, grounding her to the present moment, the lines of his brow deepening as he studies her.

She jerks away.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she snaps. Deflecting. Like that’s ever worked with him.

He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms. His shirt tightens over his chest and she’s pointedly  _ not  _ staring at him. 

“Where did you go just now?” he demands.

She scoffs. “Nowhere, obviously.” And then, because she’s bitter, “It’s not like I could leave without you following me.”

His gaze flicks over her face, studying her with an intensity that makes her chest ache. She turns back to the canvas to hide whatever emotions are skittering across her features.

Side effects of having another mind steal control over her body, apparently include no longer being able to mask her feelings. At least not from  _ him. _

It’s highly inconvenient for a multitude of reasons, one of them being that she is tragically in love with him.

He sighs, positioning himself behind the canvas, glowering at her from over the brim. She's suppressing an amused snort but continues ignoring him nonetheless.

He clears his throat, breaking the silence, “You’d tell me if she was still--”

“Josephine’s dead,” she says, hoping she sounds convincing enough for him to accept it, even if sometimes she can’t.

He peeks out at her, cocking his head to admire her work. “Then why are you still painting her?”

She lets out a harsh breath. “I just need to get her out of my head.” His brow arches. “ _ Figuratively _ , speaking.” He gestures at their surroundings. “I don’t think is helping considering she’s staring at us at every turn, Clarke,” he says, dry.

Her eyes roll. “You’re free to leave.”

The pause the follows feels purposeful enough for her to look up. The gold flecks of irises his darken and his pupils dilate. 

“I’m not leaving you.”


	3. Not The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally two fucking sentences of Bellamy fantasizing about killing Josephine in s6. This summary is longer than this chapter. Does it even deserve a title? No. But it's happening anyway #sorrynotsorry

It began with an accident, although that’s not how it ended. His words promised peace, but in the silence, he never stopped looking for opportunities to kill the stranger wearing her face. He wanted them all dead, but _her_ first. After centuries of cheating death, he wanted to be the one to look her in the eyes when she realized this time was different, _final._


	4. If I Could Tell You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oooooold.   
> This is something that would've taken place during s2...I think???  
> Minus the plot.  
> Idk, man.  
> Ao3 is officially my garbage can.

Here’s the thing--

Clarke had sex with Bellamy, which is a problem, but not the _current_ problem.

They didn’t talk about it after. 

They talked _during_ , but it had nothing to do with the status of their relationship and more to do with seeing how many times Bellamy could make Clarke come in an hour . 

Turns out— _seven_.

Ahem.

_Not the point._

The point is: they didn’t talk about it _before_.

And now Clarke is  internally panicking about, _the talk._

The _what-it-meant-or-could-mean-or-if-it-would-ever-happen-again_ talk.

It's kind of, most likely, _definitely_ her own fault. She might be treating him like he has a deadly disease that she’ll catch if she so much as hears his voice in the vicinity. 

It’s gotten so bad that yesterday when he radioed Monty, Clarke heard Bellamy speak and  nearly jumped out of her skin  mistakenly thinking he was actually _in the room_ with them, because her brain is  officially broken .  She also knocked whatever robotic contraption Raven was building off the table, which in Raven's eyes, is literal _murder_ _._

“Holy fucking hell—what is wrong with you, Griffin?!”

And of course Bellamy overheard, because the next thing he said was, “Is Clarke okay? What’s going on? _Monty?_ ” 

“Clarke’s fine!" Monty stutters, "At the moment, that is. Raven might kill her. I’ll keep you posted.”

“What—” Bellamy starts.

“Bye!” Monty blurts before he could finish.

_ Obviously _ Raven didn’t actually kill her and it’s unfortunate  really , because of  all of Clarke’s avoidance tactics, _dying_ is  certainly one worth considering .

_Problems_. Clarke has a few of them.

_Currently,_ it’s that Clarke’s sketchbook and  all of her pencils are in Bellamy’s room. 

Right where she left them. 

_Four days ago._

Now Bellamy’s not exactly the nosey, but . . . 

Okay, that’s a lie.  He  totally is, but he has some respect for privacy and if he wants to know something he’s upfront and asks about it, rather than snooping through her belongings .

So, there’s a good chance he hasn’t looked at it.

But Clarke hasn’t seen him for, like, ninety-six hours and he’s  probably more than a little annoyed with her, so she’s not going to put it past him to exact his revenge by poking at something Clarke never  really lets anyone look at—unless it’s clenched in her hands, so she can prevent anyone from turning the pages and stumbling upon something that she  really, _really_ does not want to explain .

Like the dozens of pictures she’s drawn of Bellamy.

Bellamy laughing; Bellamy sleeping; Bellamy with guns _._

Bellamy teaching Clarke how to shoot.

And then there are the ones of things that haven’t actually happened, but Clarke wishes would.

Like her cradling an infant and Bellamy huddled over them, staring  fondly down at their child who doesn’t exist yet .

Or, you know, _ever._

It could easily be explained by his nephew she thinks. It wouldn’t even be a lie exactly—the birth of Octavia and Lincoln’s child really was her inspiration.

But that wasn’t Clarke’s intention in drawing it and she’s fucking _terrified_ Bellamy’s going to realize that the moment he finds it .

_If_ he finds it.

He absolutely _can not_ find it.

*

“You want me to what?” Raven deadpans.

“Help me break into Bellamy’s quarters,” Clarke says in one breath.

“ _Right_ ,” Raven says flat, crossing her arms over her chest. “ Just making sure I heard  correctly ."  A pause and then, "If you think I’m doing anything of the sort without a damn good reason, I’m taking you to your mother to have you checked for radiation poisoning .”

Clarke sighs, dejectedly. “I left something in his room and I need it back.”

“Huh. Okay. Uh—have you tried asking for it? Is he holding this _thing_ hostage? _Are you high?_ ”

“No to all those.”

Raven huffs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I need more to go on here, Griffin. Why can’t Bellamy  just give whatever _it_ is back to you?”

_This is going nowhere._

Clarke inhales. “It's  just my sketchbook, okay?  And he can't know it's there and I’ve been avoiding him and I need to keep avoiding him and I can’t do that and ask for the damn thing back at the same time .”

“You can ask someone else to ask him for it," Raven suggests, as if Clarke hasn't already thought of that.

“That’ll draw attention to it and then he’ll  be tempted to look, or he’ll at least consider it. I can’t take that risk.”

“ _Jesus—_ do you have a hit list written in there Wanheda?”


	5. I Can't Help But Think--

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy Blake is a grump and he hates feeling things. That is all.

“Are you sure you know how to drive this thing?” Bellamy glowers at the metal beast like it’s the thing that will ultimately take him to meet his end.

Raven huffs and looks like she might take great pleasure in slapping him. “I know what I’m doing, Bellamy Blake. Stop pestering me. It’s fucking annoying.”

“I just want to make sure this thing won’t kill us,” Bellamy grumbles, catching her eyes. “Or should I say that _you_ won’t kill us? Blame the driver and not the large metal death trap, right?”

“It’s called a _rover_ , Bell,” a voice says, coming up behind him. He tenses at how easily the nickname rolls off her tongue when the only two people to ever call him that before were his mother and sister. He’s still not sure how he feels about it coming from _her_ mouth, but he hasn’t brought himself to tell her to stop.

He refuses to admit why that might be.

“I know what it’s called, princess-know-it-all,” he snaps.

He catches her fidgeting out the corner of his eye and his lips twitch. He's a dick, but at least he's consistent.

“ _Someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” she grumbles at him, continuing off in the opposite direction.

He frowns watching her go.

“Careful, Blake,” Miller’s voice croons, popping up out of fucking nowhere like a goddamn ghost as per usual. “Your feelings are showing."

Raven peeks her head up from behind the hood of the rover and cackles, shaking her head. She offers Miller a thumbs up.

“I hate everyone,” Bellamy groans, sliding into the passenger seat and slamming the door to make his point.

He glowers at Raven until she closes the hood and hops in on the other side.

“Ready to die?” she asks casual, smile to teasing the corners of her lips. He thinks about asking if she wants to fuck him again on the way there just to spite himself—maybe get his dick down her throat and her clit in his mouth this time around if she'd be for it. But he _knows_ it’s pointless and not what he really wants that anyway.

That’s the problem, really.

He doesn’t want it.

He just wants _her_.

Her stupid face and milky white soft skin with the sun in her hair and the sea in her eyes and-- _oh my god._

He has a fucking _crush_ and it's the absolute worst.

Bellamy huffs, resting his elbow in between them on the armrest and sighing into his palm. “ _Please,"_ he begs, hoping the Gods will hear him and open up the Earth and swallow him whole.

It's the least they could do.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, hello, hi, if you didn't know a published an original short story (f/f) [here.](https://www.bellesa.co/story/564/first-impressions) (18+ only!).
> 
> *
> 
> You can hang with me on [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC4ED5Wt-5ktDlZmnqysv9jA?view_as=subscriber), [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/rycewritestrash/), [twitter](https://twitter.com/rycewritestrash), [tumblr](http://rycewritestrash.tumblr.com/) and [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/rycewritestrash). You can support me (or don't--99.8% chance I'm not worth it) on [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/rycewritestrash), feeding my caffeine addiction, and on [patreon](https://www.patreon.com/rycewritestrash/).


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